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5J5

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA,

Seen from the ^vaitiz. of the hotel in the
new city of Tacoma, the enormous double-
crowned peak of Mount Tacoma dominates
the whole landscape. The range of the Cas-
cade Mountains, above which it rears its vast
snow-fields and its eight great glaciers, looks
like a low, green wall by comparison, though
its most insignificant summits are higher than
the loftiest mountains of the Atlantic States.
And wherever you may find yourself on
Puget Sound or its shores, be it in the cherry
groves of Olympia, or on the lonely waters of
Hood's Canal, or on the populous hill-side
of Seatde, or by forest-rimmed Lake Wash-
ington, or on Port Townsend's high plateau,
there is the superb mountain — if the atmos-
phere be clear, seemingly close at hand, clean-
cut, and luminous ; in other conditions of the
air, looking " far, faint, and dim," but never
much nearer or more remote, no matter from
what point of view it is seen. It is by far the
most impressive and the most beautiful of
American snow-peaks, with the possible ex-
;;eption of Mount St. Elias in Alaska, with
which I cannot claim acquaintance. Its gla-
ciers feed five swift rivers : the Cowlitz, flow-
ing to the Columbia ; the Chehalis, which
empties into the Pacific ; and the Nisqually,
Puyallup, and White, which send their milky
waters to Puget Sound. I should, perhaps,
here explain that Mount Tacoma is the
Mount Rainier of the old maps, to which
tourists and the dwellers in»the Sound coun-
try, except those who live in Seattle, are en-
deavoring to restore its musical Indian name,
meaning " the nourishing breast." Its alti-
tude is 14,440 feet, nearly 3000 more than
that of the sharp pyramid of Mount Hooci, the
sentinel of the Willamette Valley and the
Lower Columbia, and the special pride of
the people of PorUand. Its glaciers have
lately been made accessible by the cutting of
trails through the forest at its base. When
you survey them through a glass, comfort-
ably seated in an easy-chair on the hotel
pia/za, a trip thither seems no (Hfficult under-
taking. Apparently you have them right un-
der your hand, and can study the topography
of their glittering surfaces ; and you are as-
tonished when the guide tells you that to go
to the foot of one of the glaciers and re-
turn takes five days, and that if you get upon
the ridge overlooking the chief glacier, you
must add two days to tiie journey. He fur-
ther explains that the little brown streak on

the left of this glacier is a sheer precipice of
rock over one thousand feet high, and that
the small cracks in the ice-fields are enormous
crevasses, over the sides of which you can
peer down into dizzy depths and see raging
torrents cutting their way through green walls
of ice. A visit t "> these glaciers is not, how-
ever, a formidable undertaking to persons who
do not mind a few days in the saddle, a litde
rough camp life, and a fatiguing climb over
snow-fields. Tourists go in parties of five or
six, provided with horses and camp equipage,
and with spiked shoes, iron-pointed staves,
and ropes, quite in the Alpine fashion. .

The fascinating mountain was not the goal
of the journey to be described in this article.
My plan was to traverse the wilderness at its
foot, cross the Cascade Range by a pass some
thirty miles north of it, strike the head-waters
of the Yakima River and follow that stream
down to its junction with the Columbia, and
finally to reach a railroad at Ainsworth, at
the confluence of the Snake and Columbia.
The distance to be traversed was about two
hundred ai.d fifty miles, mainly through an
uninhabited country. Before setting out, let
us take another glance from our outlook on
the high plateau in the town. Here, at our
feet, is a broad arm of the Sound, called
Commencement Bay. Just beyond are mead-
ows, on the eastern forest rim of which stands
the friendly group of buildings of the Puyal-
lup Indian Agency. All the rest of the land-
scape seems an unbroken forest. We can look
over it for sixty miles to the crest of the
mountains and the notch which indicates the
pass where we are to cross. This wilderness
appearance is deceptive though, for hidden
behind the trees are one hundred and sixty
Indian farms, and beyond the reservation
containing them lie three little strips of mar-
velously fertile valleys, those of the Puyal-
lup, Stuck, and White rivers, which together
form the most productive hop region for its
size in the world. Uj) the Puyallup Valley for
thirty miles runs a railroad which brings coal
down from mines near the slopes of Mount
Tacoma — a brown, crumbling, dirty-looking
coal, but so rich in carbon that it is sent by
the ship-load to San Francisco for steam-fuel.

Our first halt on the journey eastward into
the wilderness is at the agency on the reser-
vation. The Puyallups are good Indians, but
not in the Western sense of l)eing dead Indians.
The inhabitants of the ambitious town of

Tacomr

would I

soniewli

tolemhl

inoval

receivec

farms, i-

dred an(

tile who

that any

I lenient

are self-s.

ago exp

llieni is

Vol..

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

^ZZ

•ecipice of
, and that
; enormous
1 you can
see raging
green walls
not, how-
ersons who
die, a little
climb over
s of five or
p equipage,
ted staves,
lion. .

lot the goal
this article,
jrness at its
I pass some
head-waters
that stream
lumbia, and
insworth, at
[ Columbia.
5 about two
through an
^ing out, let
outlook on
^ere, at our
)und, called
id are mead-
vhich stands
f the Puyal-
of the land-
We can look
crest of the
indicates the
is wilderness
I, for hidden
;d and sixty
reservation
trijjs of mar-
the Puyal-
lich together
■cgion for its
ip Valley for
brings coal
OS of Mount
lirty-looking
it is sent bv
)r steam-fuel,
astward into
i)n the reser-
Indians, but
lead Indians.
)us town of

Tacoma, which overlooks their little domain,
would like to have them die olV, or at least go
somewliore else; l)ut tliey arc well -behaved and
toieral)ly industrious, and no plea for tlieir re-
moval can 1)0 made. Besides, tliey have lately
received patents from tlie (loveninient to tlieir
farms, ea( li iiead of a family getting one hun-
dre<l and sixty acres, and these patents cover
the whole are.'; )f the reservation ; so the ho|)e
that any part of it will be o|)ene(l to white set-
tlement has been abandoned. These Indians
are self-supporting, their annuities havinji long
ago expired. All the Ciovernment does for
them is to pay the cost of the schools, wliere
Vol,. .\.\I.\.-S5.

MOINT TACOMA, FROM LAKE WASIllNGTON.

about one hundred and fifty of their children
are educated and at the same time boarded
and clad. Farmers in a small way, clearing
ittle jiatches of ground on whi(-h they raise
wheat and oats, and cutting hay on the natu-
ral meadows near the tide-flats, the Puyallups
make shift to live in a simple fashion, being
helped out in the ])roblem of existence by the
fish and dams of the neighboring Sound, and
by wages earned every year in the hop-fields
up tiie valley during the picking .season.
They own horses and cattle, and build for
themselves comtbrtable little houses, 'i'hey are
a home-staying folk, the dense forests around
them oflering no inducements tor roaming,
and their only excursions being short trips
on the Sound in their graceful, high-prowed
pirogues. On the whole, I think they are the
most creditable specimens of civili/e(l Indians
to be found in the I'"ar West. They govern

.•<7f)70

834

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

themselves in most matters, through officials
of their own choosing, the agent keeping a
close supervision over them, but rarely being
called upon to exercise the arbitrary power
which he, like all Indian agents, legally pos-
sesses. A board of Indian magistrates pun-
ishes criminals and decides civil actions, and a
few Indian police under the command of the
schoolmaster at the agency keep order on the
reservation. If whisky could be kept out, the
police might be dispensed with, for the Indians
when sober are never quarrelsome, and their
honesty is superior to that of the average
white man. The agent holds a theory that the
inordinate craving of the Indian for whisky is
an effect of the change from savage to civil-
ized diet and modes of living, and that it will
disappear in time, when the race gets wonted
to its new conditions. In the schools I heard
the Indian children read in the " fourth
reader " about as well, save for a curious ac-
cent, as children of the same ages in the dis-
trict schools of the States. They wrote a fair
hand, too, and sang Moody and Sankey hymns.
Arithmetic, the teacher said, is t^eir hardest
task. The dormitories and dining-room were
very neat, and the whole place was cheery and
home-like. The more capable pupils, when
they Uixive at the age of fifteen or sixteen, are
sent to the industrial school at Forest Grove,
Oregon, where they are taught trades. The
others return to their homes after receiving an
ordinary common-school education.

The agent, who is the son of one of the
first missionaries among the Oregon Indians,
and has himself been many years in the work
of civilizing the tribes of Puget Sound, drove
us about among the Indian farms all one
afternoon. The houses were as comfortable as
those of white settlers in new regions, and the
crops appeared well cared for. The men were
at work m the hop-fields. In their blue shirts
and h'ckory trousers they had nothing of the
look of the savage al)out them, save their long
hair. That is the la-st distinguishnig badge of
the wild state that the 1 ndian gives up ; he clings
to his long locks as persistently as a Chinaman
to his queue. The agent addressed all whom we
met in Chinook, iiKjuiring after their fiimilies
and their crops, and answering ([uestions about
the children in the ager..^ school. Chinook,
the curious jargon invented by the Hudson's
Bay Company's agents about a hundred years
ago, is the language of business and social
intercourse among all the tribes of the North
Pacific coast. It is to this region what French
is to Europe. With a knowledge of its three
hundred words, an Indian or a white trader or
missionary (an travel among the numerous
tribes west of the Rocky Mountains and make
himself understood. There are no moods or

tenses to the verbs, no cases to the nouns, no
comparison of the adjectives, and only one prep-
osition. Gestures and emphasis must be relied
upon to help out the meager vocabulary, which
is a droll mixture of Indian, English, and French
words. I heard an amusing story on the eastern
side of the Cascade Mountains of a Bos..on gen-
tleman who undertook to translate Chiaook by
its sound. He was visiting the Yakima Reser-
vation, and for some reason the Indians did
not like him, and were in the habit of calling
him " hyas cultus Boston man." The visitor
remarked to his friends that even the savages
recognized the superiority of Boston culture,
for they always spoke of him as a highly cul-
tured Boston man. It was not until the joke had
been a long time enjoyed that he was told that
" hyas " meant very, and " cultus "bad or worth-
less, and that " Boston man " was the Chinook
term for all Americans, — Englishmen and Can-
adians being called " King George men."

Beyond the Indian farms in the Puyallup
Valley lie the hop-fields, reaching up the river
towards Mount Tacoma for ten miles, and
also along the Stuck River, a slough connect-
ing the Puyallup with the White, and for
perhaps a dozen miles on the banks of the
latter stream. Only the maple and alder bot-
toms near the streams make good hop land,
and they are so productive that wild land,
which costs eighty dollars an acre to clear,
sells for from fifty to one hundred dollars an
acre. Hop land in good condition, with
poles and growing vines, but without build-
ings, is worth three hundred dollars an acre.
Whoever possesses a twenty-acre field, with a
drying-house, is comfortably well off". An
average yield is fifteen hundred pounds to the
acre ; a large one, twenty-five hundred pounds.
A veteran hop-raiser who has been thirteen
years in the business told me that it costs two
hundred dollars an acre to make and market a
crop. Including picking, drying, and binding,
he figured the cost at ten cents per pound,
of which the picking alone is six. The in-
dustry is a fascinating one, having a good
deal of the character of a lottery, the jjrice of
hops having run uj) and down during the
past few years over the wide range of from
ten cents to one dollar. My informant ex-
jK'cted to get thirty-five cents this year. His
forty acres would yield him eighty thousand
pounds, he thought, which would bring hiin
twenty-eight thousand dollars. The cost to
him at ten cents jjcr pound would be eight
thousand dollars, leaving a profit of twenty
lhousan<l dollars. There are not many ways of
getting so large an amount of money out of
forty acres of ground. The thorough cultiva-
tion of these little valleys reminds one of the
vineyard countries of Europe, but the resem-

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

835

: nouns, no
lyoneprep-
ist be relied
ilary, which
and French
I the eastern
Bos-.on gen-
Chinook by
cima Reser-
[ndinns did
it of calling
The visitor
the savages
ton culture,
L highly cul-
the joke had
vas told that
ladorworth-
the Chinook
lenandCan-
Tc men."
;he Puyallup
up the river
I miles, and
jgh connect-
ite, and for
janks of the
id alder bot-
)d hop land,
It wild land,
ere to clear,
;d dollars an
idition, with
ithout build-
liars an acre.
: field, with a
ell off. An
)ounds to the
dred pounds,
jeen thirteen
It it costs two
and market a
and binding,
s per pound,
six. The in-
ving a good
, the ijrice of
n during the
ingc of from
nformant ex-
lis year. His
;lUy thousand
il bring him
The cost to
juld be eight
)fit of twenty
many ways of
money out of
•ough cultiva-
uls one of the
)Ut the resem-

blance vanishes as soon as the eye falls on the
forest walls that encompass them on all sides.

In the hop-picking season there occurs a
remarkable pilgrimage from the Indian tribes
of Washington Territory and British Colum-
bia. The Indians come in their pirogues from
Puget Sound, from Frazer River, from Van-
couver's Island, and even from the shores of
the Pacific. Others cross the mountain trails
on ponies from the valleys of the Yakima and
the Upper Columbia and from the distant
forests of the Coeur d'Alfenes. To the number
of five thousand, they gather every year in
the hop region to furnish labor for picking.
Of course, for the most part, the workers
are women and children, the men spending
much of their time in gambling, smoking, and
lounging. This great influx of savagery pro-
duces no alarm among the white settlers ; in-
deed, they would be helpless to gather their
crop without the abundant supply of red
labor. By the Indians the hop-picking season
is looked forward to all the year with pleas-
ant anticipation as the one great break in the
monotony of their lives — a time of travel,
excitement, sociability, love-making, and mar-
rying, as well as of earning money to buy blan-
kets, clothing, trinkets, and sugar. They give
the white people ver)' little trouble, being neither
rowdyish nor thievish. The farmers sleep with
their doors unlocked while the neighboring
woods are alive with Indian camps.

Well mounted and equipped for camp life
in the wilderness, we left the valley of the
Puyallup near the South Prairie coal-mine,
and, scrambling up a steep bluff, struck into
the dense forest on a trail that meandered
about to avoid fallen tree trunks. The timber
growth was composed of enormous firs and
cedars, having trunks eight or ten feet in
diameter at their base, and sending their
straight columns up into the air to a height
of fully two hundred and fifty feet. The pro-
cesses of life and death were going on side by
side in this forest, uprooted trees that had
lived out their time cumbering the ground
and filling the air with the peculiar odor of
decaying wood. In places the dead trunks
would lie across each other in confused
masses. Sometimes the trail would go beneath
a gigantic trunk caught in the arms of two
standing e^ 01 wouLl make a detour to go
around the cliff like wail formed I)y the up-
lorn roots of one of these dead monarchs of
the woods. A dense underbrush of alders and
young cedars made it im|)ossibie to see a
do/en yards from the trail ; and to add to the
jungle-like appearaiue of ihe forest, the ground
was covered witii a growlii of gigantic ferns,
usually taller than a man's head, and often
high enough to conceal a man on horseback.

Beneath the ferns grew a grayish-green moss,
as soft as a velvet carpet and ten times as thick.
The trail led across a plateau and then de-
scended sharply to the White River, a swift,
glacier-fed stream drawing its waters from the
slopes of Mount Tacoma. A few settlers have
established themselves on the upper waters of
this river, and made farms on small natural
prairies in the shadows of the great forest,
where they raise hops and oats. We forded
the river, the water coming up above the sad-
dle-girths, and the unwilling horses picking
their way cautiously over the stones in the
rapid, murky current. The afternoon's ride took
us through a " big bum." These " burns" are
marked features of Cascade Mountain scenery.
The name is applied to a strip of plateau or
mountain-side where a fire has ravaged the
forest, devouring the underbrush, consuming
all the dead trees and many of the living ones,
and leaving those that have not perished
in its devastating progress standing naked
and brown. Nature rapidly covers the scene
of the ruin with a mantle of ferns, and the
" bum " soon looks rather cheerful than other-
wise, because it resembles a clearing and af-
fords a view of the sky. Two settlers' cabins
were passed that afternoon, occupied by farm-
ers who had come in last year from Kansas,
and had already redeemed a few acres from
the forest, and could show flourishing fields of
wheat and oats. Towards even- ig the trail be-
came more diflftcult. There was not the slight-
est danger of losing it, because a horse could
not possibly have gone his length into the
intricate maze of young cedars and fallen fir
trunks on either side ; but progress upon it was
an active athletic exercise, involving leaping
over or dodging under tree trunks, pushing
through barricades of bushes and brambles,
mounting and dismounting a dozen times in
every mile. The difliculties of the tangled
track had not discouraged an enterprising
German from taking his wife and three babies
over it, and making a home on the border of
a " burn " and on the banks of a little lake.
We reached his cabin just at nightfall of our
first day's journey. He is the most advanced
settler towards the Stampede Pass in the Cas-
cade Range. The two doors and three win-
dows of his house he packed in on the back
of a horse, but all the rest of the edifice he
had made with his axe out of cedar poles and
one fallen cedar-tree, splitting out the siding,
the shingles, and the flooring. In like manner
he had built a barn, a chicken-house, and a
kennel for his big Newfoundland dog, and
had fenced in with palings a bit of a door-
yard, where his wife had made a few flower-
beds in which bachelor's-buttons, poppies, and
portulacas flou ished. The man had also

836

FTiOM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

TYLER CLACIEK, MOUNT TACOMA. ALTITUDE AT FACE, 5800 FEET.

managed to clear a three-acre field, where he
was raising a fine crop of potatoes. All this
he had done between May and August — ac-
tually creating a home, a field, and a garden
in five months' time, with the unaided labor
of his own hands. And he was a little fellow
too, but he was always jolly, and perhaps
that was the secret of his wonderful achieve-
ments. All the time he was singing his old
Westphalian songs, and his flaxen-haired wife
was jolly too ; and any living creatures jollier
than those three tow-headed children I never
saw. What ditl he get to eat ? Why, he could
knock over a dozen pheasants any morning in
the nearest thicket, and the lake was full of
trout. After a few years it would not be all
wilderness about him, he said ; the railroad
would come, and by that time he would have
eighty acres of good cleared land. Would he
not be lonesome in the long wuiter ? Oh, no !
he would have plenty to do "slashing," /. <•.,
cutting down the trees preparatory to burn-
ing them, — the usual process of clearing land
where there is no market for the timber.
We (;am|)ed very comfortably that night

on a pile cf hay in the settler's shed -barn, a
structure half roofed over, but still wanting
sides, and were early on the trail next morn-
ing, after a breakfast of ham, bread, and cof-
fee. The profuse and luxuriant vegetation
continued. A noticeable plant, called the
devil's club from the brier-like character of its
stem, spread out leaves as large as a Parama
hat, and thrust up a spear-like bunch of reel
berries. The wild syringa perfumed the air.
There were two varieties of the elder — the
common one of the East, having black berries,
and one growing much higher and bearing
large red berries. Thimbleberry bushes grew
in dense thickets. The little snowball berr\
cultivated in eastern door-yards was seen, and
also whortleberries and blueberries. Among
the flowers was a " jileeding-heart," in form
like the familiar garden flower, but much
smaller, and of a pale purple color. The mosi
common bloom was the gay Erigeroncauadoi-
sis, or " fire-weed," which occupied every spoi
where it could find a few rays of sunlight.
About noon of this second day's march we
descended bv a steep zigzag |)ath to the soutli

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

837

s shed-barn, a
t still wanting
lil next morn-
)read, and cof-
int vegetation
nt, called the
character of its
e as a Parama
i bunch of red
fumed the air.
he elder — the
g black berries,
r and bearing
ry bushes grew
nowball berry
swas seen, and
Tries. Among
leart," in form
k-er, init much
3lor. The most
if^eroncauadfii-
)ied ev ery spoi
ys of sunlight,
ay's march wf
th to the soutli

bank of Green River, a handsome trout-stream,
brawling over rocks or resting in quiet dark-
green pools. A great field of excellent bitu-
minous coal, partly explored, and waiting for
a railroad to make it valuable, lies in veins
from six to ten feet thick under the forests
that border this stream. It is the best coal
thus far discovered in Washington Territory.
In its vicinity lie beds of rich iron ore. So
here, hidden in this tangled wilderness, are
the elements of a great industry, which in the
future will make these solitudes pc^ ulous.

The trail turned up the narrow valley of
Green River, and thence on for many miles
it clambered up steep slopes and plunged
down into the lateral ravines formed by the
tributary streams — up or d ^wn nearly all the
way, with rarely a hundred yards of tolerably
level ground. It was a toilsome day for men
and animals, but for the riders enlivened with
the sense of adventure, and with thoughts
now and then of what would happen if a
horse should make a false step on the verge
of a precipice where the path clung to a
mountain wall atthousand feet above the roar-
ing river. Travel on a mountain trail is never
monotonous. Youi" perceptive faculties are
kept on the alert to dodge projecting branches
and watch for all the various chances and
changes of the track. Then there are ascents

; too steep for your horse to carry you, and de

; scents too abrupt for safe riding \ streams to
ford, quagmires to flounder through, and
divers other incidents to enliven the journey.
Our second night on the trail was spent at
a camp of engineers engaged in locating the
line of a railroad over the Cascade Moun-
tains to connect eastern Washington with the
Puget Sound country. This project of sur-
mounting the formidable barrier of the Cas-
cades is as old as the time when Governor
Isaac I. Stevens conducted a government
expedition from St. Paul to Puget Sound, in

' 1853, to determine the feasibility of a north-
ern route for a railroad to the Pacific. It was

; on Stevens's report that there were passes in
.he range practicable for a railroad that the
original charter of the Northern Pacific Com-
pany, granted by Congress in 1862, desig-
nated a route from the Upper Columbia to
the Sound for the main line of that road.
This was amended by Congress in 1870, and
the main line was changed so as to run down
the Columbia River to Portland, and thence
northward to the Sound, getting through the
mountains by the only gap opened by nature,
?that of the great gorge of the Columbia. At

'the same time the short line across the moun-
tains was designated as the Cascade Branch.
Surveys to find a feasible pass for this branch
have been prosecuted with more or less dili-
VoL. XXIX.— 86.

gence and with several long intermissions
ever since 1870. During the past three years
a great deal of money has been spent upon
these surveys. How expensive they have been
may be judged from the fact that to run a
reconnaissance line through the dense forests,
encumbered by prostrate timber, which clothe
the western slope of the Cascades, requires
the services of ten axemen to open a path
along which .the engineers can advance a
mile or two a day with their instruments.
All this labor and expenditure of money has
been crowned with success, however, and a
pass has been found up which a railroad can
be built, but at the summit a tunnel nearly
two miles long must be excavated. It \, ill be
the longest tunnel in America with the excep-
tion of that through the Hoosac Mountains
in Massachusetts.

The engineers' camp on the bank of the
brawling torrent of Green River was so cheer-
'^ul a spot, with its white tents and blazing
.ires, that, although it was early in the after-
noon, saddles and packs were taken off the
horses and the decision made to go no far-
ther that day. The midsummer air in the
mountains was so cool that the warmth of the
fires was grateful. So were the hot biscuits
and steaming coffee provided by the cook,
and the pink-fleshed trout caught in the river.
Stories of encounters with cougars and bears
were told around the crackling fir logs that
evening. The cinnamr^n bear is apt to be an
ugly customer, it was agreed, but the black
bear is not dangerous unless it be a she-bear
with o.ibs. The cougar, or mountain lion, is
the most redoubtable beast of these wilds.
Perhaps the best way to deal with one of
these huge felines is that adopted by an Insh
axeman, who thus narrated his adventure :
" I was a-coming along the trail with nie
blankets on me back, and with niver as much
as a stick to defind mesilf, when all at onst
I saw a terrible big cougar not two rods
ahead of me, twistin' his tail and getting ready
fer to jump. I come upon him that suddent
that it was hard to tell which was the most
surprised, me or the baste. Well, sor, I trim-
bled like a man with the ager. But I saw that
something had to be done, and dom'd quick
too. So I threw down me blankets and gave
one hiduous yell. That was onexpected by
the cougar. He niver heard such a noise be-
fore, and he just turned tail and jumped into
the brush. I picked up me blankets and made
the best time into camp that was ever made
on that trail."

The civil engineers engaged in the railroad
surveys arc educated young men from the
East, the younger ones often fresh from col-
lege. They spend the greater part of the year

838

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

immured in the forest, with no communica-
tion with the world save that furnished by
the pack-train which comes in once a week to
bring supplies. A good story was told at the
camp fire of one of the engineers who, after
he had been eight months in the woods, went
back to the settlements. Approaching a house,
he saw a woman's calico gown hanging on a
line. The sight so affected him that he got off
his horse and kissed the hem of the garment.
The faded gown was emblematic to the young
man's mind of all the graces and refinements
of civilization, of woman's tenderness and
love, of his far-off Massachusetts home, and the
mother, sisters, and sweetheart he had left there.

The third day of our journey through the
forest led up the narrow gorge of Green
River, the trail now skirting the river's bank,
and now climbing over mountain shoulders
thrust out into the stream. The forest, if pos-
sible, grew more dense as we advanced. The
damp ground, never reached by the sun's
rays, was covered with a thick growth of gi-
gantic ferns and of the broad-leaved devil's-
club. I saw cedar-trees ten feet in diameter
above the point where their trunks spread out
to take a firm hold upon the ground. There
were many queer tree growths. Tall fir sap-
lings grew out of prostrate, decaying trunks.
From the roots of an enormous dead cedar,
whose broken column was still standing, arose
four large young trees, each at least one hun-
dred and fifty feet high, and standing so close
to each other and to the dead parent tree
that there was not more than two yards' space
between them. Near by a fir and a cedar had
grown together for a few yards above the
ground, so as to form a common trunk. Fall-
en trees and often the trunks and lower limbs
of live ones were thickly sheathed in moss —
not the trailing tree-moss of the Rocky
Mountain forests, but a thick, tufted, carpet-like
moss, of the same variety as that growing
upon the ground. After a hard day's march
we forded the river towards sunset and camped
upon the north bank. The fire was soon made,
the biscuits were baked in the tin reflector oven,
the coffee was boiled, the ham was fried, and
the horses were fed with the barley they had
carried on their backs. Then the tent-fly was
set up with one end against two enormous firs
that grew side by side, and luxurious beds were
made of moss and hemlock boughs, and we
went to sleep, happy in the thought that the
next day's march would take us up to the
summit of the pass and down on the eastern
slope of the mountains.

Next morning we left the main stream of
Green River, already diminished to a narrow
torrent, and began to follow up the course of
Sunday Creek, the trail clinging to the steep

slopes of the mountain walls. About noon the
actual ascent of the divide began. An hour
of hard climbing, crossing from side to side
of a narrow ravine, or zigzagging along its
wooded walls, the forest thinning out a little
as we went up, brought us to a little lake.
Just above was a " big burn," where the tim-
ber had been swept clean off by fire save a
few blackened stumps, and in the middle of
this " burn " was Stampede Pass, a narrow
notch with a sharp ascent on both sides. Our
horses quickened their pace, as if knowing
that the long, hard climb was almost over;
and after a few seconds' dash over ashes and
charcoal we stood on the ridge of the pass.
The first glance was naturally on beyond to
the eastward. Far down in a deep valley,
placid and green, lay I.ake Kichilas. Farther
on were mountain ranges, not densely tim-
bered like those of the western slopes of the
Cascades, but showing bare places, and, where
wooded, covered with the Rocky Mountain
pine, which grows in an open way, with little
underbrush. The reddish trunks of these trees
give color to an entire mountain-side. It was
to the westward, however, that the view was
most striking; for there, towering far above
the green ridges of the Cascades, rose the
dazzling snow-fields and glaciers of Mount
Tacoma. Above them rested a girdle of
clouds, and above the clouds, serene in the
blue ether, glittered the white summits. The
peak seemed much higher than when seen
from the sea-level of the Sound. Mountains
of great altitude always show to best advan-
tage when seen from considerable elevations.
We had been climbing all day to reach our
point of view, and yet the gigantic peak tow-
ered aloft into the sky to a height that seemed
incredible, as if it were only the semblance
of a mountain formed by the clouds.

Stampede Pass got its name four years ago,
when a party of trail-cutters, camped at the
little lake near its summit, not liking the
treatment they received from their boss,
stampeded in a body and returned to the
settlements. Later, the engineers called it
Garfield Pass, because there the news of
President Garfield's assassination came to
them ; but the first name is the one generally
used, rhe elevation of the pass is about five
thousand feet, or double that of the point
where the Pennsylvania Railroad crosses the
Alleghany Mountains. The descent eastward
to the streams that form the Yakima River is
only moderately abrupt, and one can ride
down the zigzag trail with no great danger
of pitching over his horse's head. The char-
acter of the forest growth is very different
from that on the western slooes of the moun-
tains, the gigantic firs and cedars disappear-

)Out noon the
m. An hour
side to side
ing along its
ig out a little
a little lake,
here the tim-
)y fire save a
he middle of
ss, a narrow
th sides. Our
s if knowing
almost over;
ver ashes and
: of the pass,
an beyond to
deep valley,
lilas. Farther
densely tim-
slopes of the
es, and, where
;ky Mountain
'ay, with little
of these trees
i-side. It was
the view was
ing far above
ides, rose the
ers of Mount
a girdle of
serene in the
summits. The
in when seen
1. Mountains
o best advan-
ble elevations.
yr to reach our
itic peak tow-
it that seemed
he semblance
loads.

four years ago,
amped at the
lot liking the
n their boss,
turned to the
eers called it
the news of
tion came to
: one generally
is is about five
; of the point
ad crosses the
scent eastward
akima River is
one can ride
) great danger
ad. The char-
very difterent
s of the moun-
lars disappear-

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

839

ing as soon as the summit is crossed, and in
their places appearing a species of small
mountain fir, growing thickly, but with little
underbrush and no intricate barricades of
fallen trunks. The flowers are of new species,
and the pine-grass grows in the woods. Evi-
dently the climatic conditions are widely dis-
similar to those on the western side of the
great range,' the moisture-laden atmosphere
of the Puget Sound country, which produces
a phenomenal vegetable growth, not crossing
ihe mountain-wall. Probably there is no-
where on ihe globe as marked a climatic
boundary as that of the Cascade Mountains
in both Washington Territory and Oregon.
West of this boundary the winters are mild,
with much rain and little snow, and the sum-
mers cool and showery ; while east of it the
winters are sharp and dry, with abundant
snowfall, and the summers very hot, little rain
falling between the first of June and the first
of October. On Puget Sound you have the
climate of Ireland, while just across the moun-
tains in the valley of the Yakima weather and
landscapes in summer recall northern Cali-
fornia.

Our fourth day's march was the longest
on the trail. We made twenty-five miles,
and came at sunset to a wagon-road and a
fenced field, evidences of settlement that were
greeted with enthusiasm. There was a house,
too, tenanted by the most advanced settler
mountainwards in the Yakima Valley. He
kept a toll-gate, and levied a tax on emigrants
about to struggle over the Snoqualmie Pass to
the Sound country. Nominally there is a
wagon-road through this pass all the way to
Seattle, and stout wagons lightly loaded are
somehow gotten across the mountains by
courageous emigrants who carve their way
with their axes through the fallen timber.
The chief utility of the road, however, is for
the driving of catde. All the Sound country,
and much of British Columbia, get their beef
supply from the bunch-grass plains east of the
Cascades. It takes seven days to drive a herd
of cattle from the Upper Yakima to Seattle,
which is the beef market of the Sound. The
night was spent in a deserted cabin on beds
of boughs eked out with a little hay which
the last occupant had left. Breakfast on the
grass next morning was enlivened by a visit
from a flock of Hudson's Bay birds that at-
tempted to share the meal, and, after carrying
off several crackers, made an attack on the
remains of a ham. These familiar brown
birds, sometimes called lumberman's friends
or whisky-jacks, discern the smoke of a camp-
fire miles away, and are speedily on hand to
clear up the crumbs.

Our horseback journey was now at end. A

good friend in Portland had sent a team and
spring wagon a hundred and fifty miles from
the Lower Yakima to meet us at the end of
the wagon-road. Our excellent Scotch guide,
with the cook, the packer, the saddle-horses,
and the pack-animals, turned back to retrace
their steps over the long trail to the Puyallup
Valley. Blankets and bags were transferred to
the wagon, and ',»'e set off through the open
pine woods, over a very fair road, down the
valley of the Yakima. The road did not follow
the strearn closely, but only kept its general
course, taking across the hills to avoid the
canons and muddy bottoms. Only one house
was seen in the forenoon's drive. It was in-
habited by three C ermans, who had " taken
up" a natural timotbv meadow, and were
getting rich cutting a ^lundred tons of hay
every year, and selling it to herders on their
way to the Sound at twenty-five dollars a ton.
They had an irrigated garden full of all sorts
of vegetables. About noon another farm was
reached, where a Maine man was raising fine
crops of oats and wheat by irrigation. A big
barn filled with hay and a comfortable log-
house flanked by apple-trees were invitations
to rest not to be refused in a wild country.
The housekeeper prepared a surprisingly good
dinner — the first civilized meal the travelers
had eaten since leaving the hotel at Tacoma.
There were fresh vegetables and roast beef,
coffee and cream that defied criticism, and an
apple-pie that could not be surpassed in New.
England. We sat upon benches, and in the
parlor the only furniture was three wooden
chairs and a rude table ; but there were chintz
curtains at the windows, hanging from cornices
made of moss, and on the table were many
newspapers and a copy of The Century.

The next house on the road belonged to
Indian John, a famous character among the
whites of the Upper Yakima country, and a
sockalee tyec, or big chief, among the Kittitas
Indians. John has a few well-fenced fields
of grain, and a good log-cabin, window-
less and with a hole in the roof to let out the
smoke from the fire burning on the ground in
the middle of the one room. The women of
his household were busy drying service-berries,
but when our driver told them in Chinook
that we were going to take a photograph of
the place, the younger ones hurried into the
cabin and speedily put on what finery they
possessed in the shape of blue gowns, brass
bracelets, and girdles of bead-work studded
with brass nails. John wore civilized clothes,
but a young Indian, presumably the husband
of the squaw with the baby, was attired in
scarlet leggins, green breech-cloth, and blue
tunic, and his face was liberally adorned with
vermilion paint. John is a thrifty fellow, and

840

FBOM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

when his relations come to visit him and live
upon him Indian fashion, he sets them to
work building fences or hoeing potatoes. He
wants to marry his youngest daughter to a
white man. He says the siwashes (Indians)
are cultus, which in Chinook means " no
good." The girl might be thought rather too
buxom to suit a critical taste, and objections
might also be made to her mouth and feet on
the score of their size ; but as to her good-
nature there could be no doubt after she had
smiled all over her face at each of the travelers
and merrily winked her black eyes.

A few miles beyond Indian John's ranch
the forest stops abruptly on the crest of a hill,
and the bunch-grass plains begin. They are
not plains in the sense of being at all level.
On the contrary, they are heaved up in hills
and ridges and low bare mountain ranges, and
creased by many valleys and canons ; but they
are destitute of timber, save along the streams,
and are sere, yellow, and dusty, and thus con-
form to the Far- Western meaning of the word
plains. The soil is composed of disintegrated
basaltic rock, and, whether on lofty crests or
steep slopes or in deep ravines, is alike cov-
ered with the same monotonous vegetation of
bunch-grass, wild sunflowers, sage-brush, and
grease- wood. The colors of the landscapes
are dirty browns and yellows and faded sage-
green, save where a belt of alders and wil-
lows skirts a creek. In May and June, when
.the grass is fresh and the sunflowers are in
bloom, the country seems carpeted with fresh
green and gold ; but this season of verdure and
blossoms only lasts a few weeks, and then
comes the long, dry, dusty summer. The
plains of the great Columbia basin occupy a
stretch of country of almost circular form, and
of about three hundred miles across, sur-
rounded by the Cascade Mountains on the
west, the Blue Mountains on the south, the
Bitter Root and Coeur d'Alfene Mountains
on the east, and the Peshastin, Colville, and
other ranges on the north. From north to
south, nearly midway of the basin's width,
flows the Columbia. The eastern part of the
basin is mainly drained by the Snake, the
Palouse, and the Spokane rivers, and the
western part by the Yakima and its tributaries.

In the afternoon of the first day's travel by
wagon, and the fifth of our journey from Puget
Sound, we entered the Kittitas Valley, and saw
its market-town of Ellensburg lying in white
spots against, a brown hill-side fifteen miles
distant. This valley is the most exten.sive
and most thickly settled between the Cas-
cade Mountains and the Columbia. It is
twenty miles long and from three to ten miles

wide, and, being well watered and easy to irri-
gate, has attracted a thrifty farming popula-
tion. With a few small tributary valleys, it is
said to contain two thousand five hundred
people, of whom some four hundrec'. live in the
town. Forty bushe's of wheat to tie acre and
four hundred of potatoes are average yields on
the rich irrigated lands. In spite of their iso-
lation from markets, — the valley is one hun-
dred and fifty miles from the nearest accessi-
ble transportation line, — the farmers appear
prosperous, their houses and barns being of a
better character than are usually seen in new
countries. Settlement in the valley dates back
ten years ; but most of the people have come
in during the past four or five years, attracted
by the prospect of a railroad as well as by the
fertility of the soil.*

Of Ellensburg little need be said. It is a
creditable frontier \illage for one so new and
so remote, supporting two weekly newspapers
and an academy. Tiie Yakima River flows
by the town in a swift, deep current, fed by
snows but not by glcciers, as its clear, blue
waters testify. Froui a high ridge south of the
town the top of Mount Tacoma can be seen,
but it is much less impressive from this point
of view than is Mount Stuart, the highest
peak of the Peshastin Range, which bounds
the prospect on the north. I confess never to
have heard the name of this range before, yet
it is immeasurably grander than the White
Mountains or the Adirondacks. Mount Stuart,
usually called Monument Peak, is ten thou-
sand feet high, and is as bold and peculiar in
its form as the Matterhorn in Switzerland.
The whole range is savage and precipitous,
a serrated ridge of brown rock, with many
jagged peaks, too steep to carry much snow
save in the deep ravines. At the foot of these
magnificent mountains lie four deep, green,
forest - rimmed lakes — Kichilas, Kachees,
Kitallum, and Cleellum. The region is wild
and little known, and is very inviting to ad-
venturous explorers. Veins of copper carry-
ing considerable gold and silver have recently
been discovered there, and a vein of coal so
good for blacksmithing purpo;>es that it is
hauled down to the Kittitas Valley and sold
for thirty dollars a ton.

Going southward from Ellensburg, there is
no settlement after leaving the Kittitas Valley
until the Wenass Valley is reached, a distance
of twenty miles. The Yakima plunges into a
deep canon with sides so steep that there is
no room for a road. So the road climbs over
two bare, brown ridges, one high enough to
figure on the maps as a mountain range.
From its crest the squares of green and gold

* The journey described in this article was made in the summer of 1884.
up the Yaitima Valley has advanced as far as Yakima City. — E. V. S.

Since then the railroad-building

■It.

d easy to irri-
ning popula-
valleys, it is
five hundred
rer. live in the
t le acre and
age yields on
; of their iso-
r is one hun-
arest accessi-
rmers appear
ns being of a '
Y seen in new
ey dates back
lie have come
ears, attracted
well as by the

said. It is a
le so new and
ly newspapers
I River flows
urrent, fed by
its clear, blue
re south of the
1 can be seen,
rem this point
:, the highest
which bounds
)nfess never to
ige before, yet
an the White

Mount Scuart,
k, is ten thou-
md peculiar in
n Switzerland,
id precipitous,
;k, with many
Ty much snow
le foot of these
r deep, green,
las, Kachees,

region is wild
inviting to ad-
" copper carry-
:r have recently
vein of coal so
OSes that it is
'^alley and sold

nsburg, there is
Kittitas Valley
:hed, a distance
, plunges into a
:p that there is
jad climbs over
high enough to
lountain range,
green and gold

> railroad-building

F/IOM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMBIA.

841

formed by the fields of oats and ripened
wheat in the Kittitas Valley made a very
pretty landscape effect. The-ridges separating
the narrow valleys are covered with an abun-
dant growth of bunch-grass, and are good
summer ranges for stock ; but the snow lies
on them too deeply in winter for cattle to
range, as in Montana, all the year round;
consequently there is but little stock in the
country. The Wenass is a tributary of the
Yakima, and it makes a good agricultural
valley, twenty miles long, but only one or two
farms wide. About three hundred people in-
habit it. Ten miles farther south come the
Nachess Valley, wider, but not so long as the
Wenass, and the Coweechee Valley, narrower
and longer than the Nachess. Both are well
settled. On a farm at the mouth of this val-
ley, where we halted for supper, apples,
plums, cherries, raspberri , ij i blackberries
grew luxuriantly, and in an irrigated garden
all sorts of vegetal I ; : flourished. The Nachess
debouches into the Yakima Valley, a name
applied locally to only about fifteen miles of
the course of the Yakima River, where there
is an irrigable plain eight oi' ten miles wide,
partly under cultivation, and supporting the
town of Yakima City, with its eight hundred
inhabitants. We reached the " city " about
dark, having traversed forty miles of good
road without meeting a single person trav-
eling in the opposite direction. Save a few
herds of cattle and bands of horses and nu-
merous flocks of grouse, there was no life on
the grassy slopes and ridges. Yakima City
stands at the junction of the Attanam Creek
with the Yakima River, and on the east side
of the river there is a third inhabited valley,
called the Moxee. In all these valleys farm-
ing by irrigation is very successful. The soil
is a fine powder, carrying no trace of sand ;
the whole region was once volcanic and
later the bed of a lake. A little water applied
to this rich soil, with the aid of the heat of
the long summer days, causes all the cereals
and vegetables of the temperate zone, and all
the fruits, save peaches, to flourish amazingly.
One acre will produce as much as three of
good farm-land in the Eastern States. The
town is a medley of cheap wooden buildings
and vegetable gardens, shaded by Lombardy
poplars, and backed up against a ridge of
bulging brown hills. In summer the mercury
frequently goes up to one hundred degrees ;
but the climate is remarkably healthy, owing,
no doubt, to the dryness of rhe air and soil.
The inhabi^^unts think the place beautiful, and
so it is when contrasted with the hot, weari-
some expanses of sage-brush and bunch-grass
and powdery dust one must traverse to reach
it. Little streams of clear water run along the

sides of the streets and are sluiced off" into the
gardens. The town is the trade center of all
the region between the Cascades and the
Columbia, and is waiting impatiently for the
railroad advancing up the Yakima to aug-
ment its business and population. At present
the merchants 'haul their goods from the Dalles,
about a hundred miles distant, and thither go
such products of the country as can profitably
be transported so far in wagons. When the
railroad goes through the mountains, all these
fertile little irrigated valleys, drained by the
Yakima, will get rich raising fruits, vegeta-
bles, grain, and cattle for tlic 'ound cities,
which now get their supplies ala>nst entirely
from San Francisco. Uitch enttrprises on a
large scale will then recli'm thousands of
acres that now grow notb ' ■■ but sage-brush.

I heard a good deal ot talk in Vakiikt City
of a project on the part of the railroad com-
pany to create a new town r> ..r the junction
of the Nachess and Yakima rivers, with the
view of making it a model place of wide
streets, deep lots, shade-trees, flowers, and
running streams, by the aid ot the abun-
dant waters of the Nachess, available for ir-
rigation. The future city, which as yet hardly
exists on paper, is already in imagination
the flourishing capital of the great State of
Washington. Its proposed site is now .-. waste
of dust and sage-brush, but, with plenty of
water and plenty of money, the project of
making this desert blossom like the rose
would be perfectly feasible.

Leaving Yakima City and traveling in a
south-easterly direction, our road ran for about
fifty miles through an Indian reservation be-
longing to a number of tribes gathered from
the entire region between the Cascade Moun-
tains and the Upper Columbia — Yakimas,
Klickitats, Kittitas, and others whose names
are only known locally. About three thou-
sand souls belong upon this reservation, but
there are probably not more than half that
number actually living on it, the others pre-
ferring their old homes in the mountains,
where they can hunt, or on the banks of the
Columbia, wh "e the salmon furnish an abun-
dant food supply. Those upon the reservation
are pardy civhized, culti-ating small field;;
of grain and herding cattle. Nominally they
have all been Christianized, and Methodists
and Catholics compete for the honor of sav-
ing their souls ; but a considerable number
render secret homage to an old humpbacked
Indian prophet, named Smohallo, who has in-
vented a religion of his own. This dusky Ma-
homet lives in the desert, near Priests' Rapids,
on the Columbia, where he has a village of
adhe'^ents, and is constantly visited by admir-
ers from tl. i reservation, who bring him tribute.

842

■ %

FROM PUGET SOUND TO THE UPPER COLUMB/A.

He goes into trances and professes to have
communion with the Great Spirit. An army
officer, who recently visited Smohallo's village
to see if the old fellow was brewing any mis-
chief, told me that he witnessed a singular relig-
ious ceremony in a tent. The prophet sat on
a hassock, with a bell in his hand. In front of
him were twelve Indians in red shirts, on one
side six maidens in white gowns, and on the
other six in red gowns. The ringing of the
bell was a signal for them to kneel or rise.
The service consisted of chants and a dis-
course by the prophet. At one time he fell on
the ground in a trance, and after a few min-
utes arose and announced a pretended revela-
tion from the heavenly powers. Smohallo was
educated by the Jesuit fathers at the Coeur
d'Al^ne Mission, and evidently has borrowed
his ceremonials from those he saw there. He
is a disturbing element among the Indians, be-
cause he tries to dissuade them from industry,
saying that the earth is their mother, and that to
plow the ground is to scratch her skin, to dig
ditches is to wound her breast, and to open mines
is to crack her bones, and that she will not receive
them after they die if they thus abuse her.

The Yakima Reservation lies between the
river and the Simcoe Mountains. Most of it
is sage-brush land, but for three hours we
drove through a green country covered with
rye-grass standing higher than our horses'
heads, with rich pasturage of smaller herbage
among it. Opposite, on the white man's side
of the valley, there is little or no selUement,
but the land lies favorably for reclamation by
ditches taken from the river. Some of the
Ind ans live in frame houses evidently built by
the Government, for they are of one pattern ;
others have b'lilt log structures for themselves,
while many still adhere to the " wicky-up " —
a shapeless hut made from a combination of
brush and mats woven from reeds. They
have adopted white customs in one respect, at
least, for they have set up a toll-gate and tax
travelers fifty cents for driving across their
country. The toll-gate keeper was in a morose
frame of mind. He had recently been arrested
by the agent, put in the " skookum-house "
(jail), and fined sixty dollars for having two
wives. He said he could not sei what the harm
was as long as the women were both satisfied,
and grumbled about the loss of the money he
had saved to buy a now horse-rake.

Our noonday halt was at a ranch on the
north side of the river. The ranchman ferried
the team across on a flatboat, and invited us
to rest in rocking-chairs u.i a piazza roofed
with green cottonwood boughs while his wife
got dinner. He had taken up a green spot in
the sage-brush waste, and was making butler

from fifty cows, and putting up great stack^
of hay for their winter feed. He was a shrewa
and prosperous man, and his success had al-j
ready attracted other settlers. The afternoon's
journey was through a country wholly deso-j
late. The river itself seemed to get discouraged,!
and ran with a sluggish current through the
parched and thirsty land, which constantly
robbed it of its waters, so that its volume di-1
minished as it advanced. Hidden by the bare
hills that bounded the southern horizon layj
however, a grassy valley, called Horse Heaven J
where fifty families have settled during the
past year. Northward the landscape was al^
a burning-hot, dusty sage-brush plain slopinp
up to the Rattlesnake Mountains. The nigh^
was spent restfuUy on clean blankets in ar
engineers' camp, on the line of the advancing
railroad. A mile away was a settlement started
by an ex-Congressman from Tennessee, whc
hopes that ditch enterprises and the water^
power of the falls of the Yakima will develop
a town on his lands.

The next day — the tenth since we left!
Puget Sound — was the most trying of the
whole journey. The heat was intolerable.1
Probably it would have been about 105° Fah-T
renheit in the shade if there hac been anj
shade. What it was in the sun nobody at-|
tempted to estimate. The dust covered thfl
faces of the travelers with yellow masks anr
penetrated their clothing, forming a thick de-|
posit all over their bodies. Eighteen miles ir
a wagon brought us to the end of the rail-l
way track buiit last year, but not yet operated]
and not put in order since the winter rains, sc
that a locomotive could not get over it. Here
we transferred ourselves to a hand-car. The
three passengers sat in front, with their feetj
hanging down over the ties and knocking
against the weeds and sand-heaps. Four stoujj
fellows at the levers got an average speed 0^
nearly ten miles an hour out of the little ma-j
chine. To the heat of the direct rays of the
sun was added that reflected from the rails, the
sandy embankment, and the sides of the cutsJ
With what joy we descried in the early after-j
noon the broad, blue flood of the Columbia 1
Whai a satisfaction it was to rest in the shade
of a tent by the margin of the cool waters I
In the evening a diminutive steamboat, ap..
called T/ir A'tiif, ferried us down to Ainsworth|
a little town at the confluence of the Snake
and the Columbia, — rivers as mighty in \o\{
ume here as the Mississippi and Missouri
where they join, and as strikmgly difterent ir
the character of their waters. At Ainswortl
the journey described in this article endedj
and the homeward trip in a Pullman car
began.

Eugent V. Smal/ey.